


Shoulder

by monimala



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gap Filler, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-26
Updated: 2013-11-26
Packaged: 2018-01-02 17:55:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1059793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monimala/pseuds/monimala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place between 1.8, “Necromancer”, and 1.9, “Sanctuary.” Apparently the first Captain Irving/Miss Jenny fic on AO3. Come on, people! Get with it! ::insert Ichabodian tirade here:: </p>
<p>
  <i>There is no talking when they get right down to it...</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shoulder

Adrenaline. Fear. A healthy dose of lust. Good old-fashioned boot knocking. Whatever you want to call it, there is no second-guessing, no backing out, and no talking when they get right down to it.

Just sounds that would be ridiculous in any other context. The breath hissing between her teeth. The grunts as he sinks balls-deep into her and bottoms out. The squelch-squeak of their bodies slapping against the vinyl seats. The car horn going off with a strangled honk when she hits it with her elbow. Because, Jesus, it was her stupid idea to fuck in the front seat of his car.

Her stupid, brilliant idea.

Frank Irving knows his way around a woman's body like he knows his way around a gun—which is to say, expertly and _excellently_ —and it has been a long, long time since she got laid. Much less laid so damn good.

An affirmation of life. Chasing away the demons. A port in the storm. It doesn't matter what this is, only that it's happening.  

He’s lean under her hands, not skinny. All muscle and sinew and sweat. His ears are kind of obnoxiously cute, though—pointy little fuckers—and she can’t help but take a lobe between her teeth and bite down just enough to make him jump—to make him drive deeper, _harder_ —and gasp, “Fuck!” It’s the first word either of them has said since he pulled the car over to the side of the road and reached over to unclick her seatbelt.

She likes that he thought he could take charge. That having a badge and a dick made him think he was running this show. He’s not. He’s just along for the ride. For _her_ ride. And she digs in, knees against his hips, mouth claiming his lips, taking him exactly where _she_ needs to be. Fully armed. Two guns in holsters and one between her thighs.

“Fuck,” he says again, and it’s kind of obnoxiously cute, too. He thinks he’s so hard, so badass and powerful, Mr. Police Captain from the big city. But she’s seen shit that would freeze his blood in his veins, and this, _this_ right here is the most danger he’s been in tonight. He just doesn’t know it.

Or maybe he does. Because he buries his hand in her hair and presses his fingertips into the back of her neck hard enough to sting. To hold her still while he uses his free hand to wedge between them and stroke her right to the breaking point. Yes, he most certainly knows his way around a woman. Around _her_. And all of a sudden it’s her who’s swearing up a storm, who shatters the silence with noises that don’t need any context at all. She clings to his shoulders, bites down on her lower lip—she doesn’t jump, she just draws blood—and lets go.

She feels him smiling against her breasts. A smug curve as he drops a kiss just above her pounding heart. But he doesn’t get to wear it for long. Because her hands are just as deft, her fingers just as tricky, and all it takes are a few seconds for him to follow her right over the cliff into mindless, boneless bliss.

Exhaustion isn’t far behind, so they stay like that for a while. Drowse longer than they should. _Almost_ cuddling. Until she whacks the horn again and he laughs and the dawn starts crawling across the sky.

Adrenaline. Fear. A healthy dose of lust. Good old-fashioned boot knocking. Whatever you want to call it…it’s shelter. For now.

 

\--end—

 

November 26, 2013


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